


The Magic-less Cruciatus Curse

by JustSuperMione



Series: R/Hr canon missing moments [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSuperMione/pseuds/JustSuperMione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy watches Scarhead, Frizzball and Weasel a lunchtime during HBP. "Hate can be like walking on glass. My hate is like a Magic-less Cruciatus Curse; burning and aching at the soul. It eats away continuously. My hate is directed at the bane of my life... The Magic-less Cruciatus Curse is Dark Lord tame compared to this." But who does Draco hate the most? Canon D/Hr (one sided) but its all about the R/Hr</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic-less Cruciatus Curse

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but play with everything. 
> 
> Note: this being Draco’s monologue, the following name changes for his own amusement. 
> 
> Scarhead = Harry Potter 
> 
> Weasel = Ron Weasley 
> 
> Frizzball = Hermione Granger 
> 
> Girl Weasel = Ginny Weasley 
> 
> Twin Weasel’s = Fred and George Weasley 
> 
> Lanky Ponce = Dean Thomas 
> 
> Purple = Lavender Brown 
> 
> Leprechaun = Seamus Finnigan 
> 
> Klutz McBroken = Neville Longbottom 
> 
> Loopy = Luna Lovegood 
> 
> Vicky = Viktor Krum 
> 
> and 
> 
> Sir McBoast-a-lot = Cormac McLaggen

A summer term lunchtime in Hogwarts Great Hall has always been a social riot. A wild, turbulent disturbance fuelled by sunshine and hormones. Today is no different for my ‘peers’. Today, however I, Draco Malfoy, am not in the mood to socialise.   
  
Last year, I would have been in the centre of it; starting a chorus of  _Weasley is Our King_ , the song I wrote just for the pleasure of watching Weasel squirm.   
  
Back then, Umbridge was ,in the palm of my hand. I had the power to do whatever I wanted. I had father to talk to whenever I needed. In fact my greatest irritation was when the words of  _Weasley is Our King_  got re-written undoubtedly by Frizzball or Loopy… What is it with girls fawning over him?   
  
That was then. I was totally different then. It was a totally different reality; as black is different from light that is the extent my reality has changed. I can’t believe how different my life is now. Whatever I do there is a giant possibility that I’m going to die; for me, there’s no chance. No glimmer of hope. No safe place.

 

I’m only sixteen years old, the scariest thing in my life should be homework, sneaking off to fish in the lake, being Quidditch Captain or getting off with some girl.   
  
Instead, I’m looking death in the face. Death is smirking because my task is hopeless. It smirks at me because when I fail my mother will die too. Knowing that my mother’s life rests on my success is killing me inside; because I’m not succeeding. It’s like I’m an Inferi walking the halls; it’s just that no one realises but me.   
  
I’m an Inferi with a racing mind; if that’s even magically possible. My mind is racing, as it has been all year. I wish it would slow down if only for a little while. I’m tired. I feel hollow and exhausted.   
  
I’m tired because even when I sleep it is without rest. I lie there just picturing the Room of Requirements and that thing over and over again. I’m exhausted because day and night I slip into that room to work; fruitlessly and endlessly. I’m hollow because I’m all alone with nobody to talk to or help me. 

  
Snape wants me to tell him what I’m doing but I don’t trust him. Unbreakable Vow or not; who else could have warned the Order about Scarhead and his merry band of idiots going to the Ministry last year? I was in the office when Scarhead gave him that nonsense coded message.   
  
If he was really on the Dark Lords side he would have delayed the Order or warned father somehow. It’s all his fault. I hate him for it. And to think, father and I used to trust him.   
  
Father would be proud if he knew; I’m the youngest ever Death Eater on a solo mission. I’m the only one who has ever figured out how to get around the castles wards. Dumbledore and the whole lot of them think this place is safe from attack; just wait till they see. I’m the only one who’s figured out how to get Death Eaters in to the castle right under Dumbledore’s nose; if only I could mend that bloody broken Vanishing Cabinet.   
  
I’ve tried other ways to get Dumbledore like the necklace and poison but that was only when I got desperate; so sick of the Cabinet and I wanted to scream and cry with pure frustration. The Cabinet, however, remains my best plan because it’s so much easier to do what I have to with ‘friends’ around. I don’t want to think about that right now – I need a break.   
  
I’m sat where I always sit; in the centre, my Slytherin’s Court surrounding me; in full view of Hogwarts golden trio – Scarhead, Weasel and Frizzball. While the rest of my court creates disorder, I turn my gaze to them.   
  
Scarhead talking to Girl Weasel again; look to be getting closer.  _Ha_  Scarhead is flirting with her and oh look at her, she loves it. Oh this is sick; it’s like any other grotesque disaster. I want to look away but am being drawn in.   
  
Hang on a minute, isn’t she Lanky Ponce’s girlfriend? Oh look there he is. Lanky Ponce sitting, as usual, with Leprechaun and Klutz McBroken; poor Lanky Ponce he doesn’t look very happy… They must have broken up as well.   
  
I’m not surprised though. Girl Weasel has always ‘made eyes’ at Scarhead. Even when he didn’t even know she existed.   
  
It was funny her first year when Scarhead and Weasel weren’t on the train because Frizzball and Girl Weasel sat together complaining about Scarhead and Weasel. I went in rubbing it in that their boyfriend’s were going to be expelled. I tried to bait them so they’d curse me and they’d get kicked out too. Even then I couldn’t hurt Frizzball. 

  
Scarhead started noticing Girl Weasel this year. They became ‘ _friends’_  and there was no way Lanky Ponce could compete with that.   
  
So both Weasels broke up with their respective partners…  _Merlin_  it really wasn’t a good night for Gryffindor romances last night? Although I suppose it depends on who you ask.   
  
What a lucky night for that Wee Irish Leprechaun. He’s been pining for that Purple for _years_. What I don’t get is why when Weasel first went into hospital after my Mead: he kept it from her?   
  
Surely, he would have taken her straight to Weasel, been the shoulder to cry on and then watched the fireworks between Frizzball and Purple. Leprechaun delaying Purple had something to do with Klutz McBroken. Running around the castle like a nut that day he was.   
  
Actually, Leprechaun doesn’t look happy either. He hasn’t been his usual cheery-Leprechaun-self since Weasel’s poisoning. Purple won’t talk to him. Maybe it’s not that though. Maybe someone stole his _Lucky Charms._ Maybe he didn’t blow something up. Or maybe not, he’s shooting evils at Weasel and Frizzball. Why is he behaving like that? I thought he’d be happy no more Weasel to stand between him and that Purple.   
  
Weasel and Frizzball have their backs to me as usual; it’s how I  _like_  it. They’re very close; Frizzball has something in her eye. He’s being so gentle and tender not his usual self at all. Her arms are around his middle and he’s cupping her cheek with one hand so she stays in position for him. He’s speaking to her in a gentle voice so only she can hear him.   
  
They’re inches away from each other; it looks like they’re going to kiss.

 

I’m not the only one who’s watching them; they have an unnoticed audience. The whole Great Hall seems to have fallen under a silencing charm. The air’s electric.

  
Only Scarhead and Girl Weasel seem oblivious to what’s going on right in front of  _them_. Which is quite a turnaround; they usually have to cope with Weasel and Frizzball being oblivious. Wish I could be oblivious to the lot of them; they’re sickening.   
  
Oh look Frizzball’s smiling.   
  
The thing is out of her eye now but it hasn’t crossed their minds to separate. I wonder what he’s whispering. They don’t seem to be blushing; even though she’s enjoying the touch. He’s smiling back, in that irritating Weasel lopsided way. I hate  _them_. They make me sick when they’re all over each other like that. Bored now… 

Oh wait, I change my mind.   
  
That ridicules blond Purple girl just coming in, late for lunch but not the show.  _Now_  I’m really excited… I know that Weasel and Purple broke up; everyone at breakfast knew. I smile. Fireworks time! Maybe he’s going to get slapped. That would make my day.  _THAT_  would make getting up this morning a worthwhile.   
  
Purple’s recovered from earlier in Charms; Myrtle says Purple was sobbing in her bathroom earlier about... snow looking like dandruff and the mudblood filths small triumphant smile.   
  
Purple looks devastated. Myrtle say that yesterday, there were all these rumours about what Ron and Hermione did before and after their Apparation test. That last night, they had a rather loud break up where he denied everything. They’re so publically affectionate; the truth looks to be dawning on her face.

 

_SOB_ : loud and echoing.   
  
“It was a mistake to wear make-up today wasn’t it?” I mutter to myself. Pansy sniggers: I ignore her. Stupid foolish Purple; it’s only Weasel he isn’t worth tears. Oh this is like a melodrama: Leprechaun shoots them another filthy look before going after her. Purple and Leprechaun must be talking again.   
  
Anyway, Weasel and Frizzball heard the sob and sprang apart knocking Klutz McBroken over. They’re always springing a part those two. Sometimes I wonder if I cursed them to do that; seems the kind of sick curse I’d do. They look guilty seeing the exit of Purple.  
  
They seem unaware of the world around them a lot of the time. They have this  _connection._  Everyone knows it, everyone but them. I am NEVER going to have that  _connection_  with… I hate knowing that.   
  
Even Klutz McBroken has someone. There she is Loopy helping him up, there for him. Looking around him like an invisible creature knocked him down rather than Fizzball and her precious Weasel. 

I hate  _them_  all. They all have someone to miss them when they’re gone. Whereas I will die, unloved and unmourned; just generally hated.   
  
Hate isn’t always a bad thing.  
  
Hate can be a good or bad thing. It depends on how you use it; a catalyst for change; giving you the passion to get things done.

 

Hate can be like walking on glass. My hate is like a Magic-less Cruciatus Curse; burning and aching at the soul. It eats away continuously. My hate is directed at the bane of my life; that one golden trio member I loathe the most.   
  
 _Weasel_.

I hate Scarhead a lot, I hate him because he’s…Well… Scarhead. Saint  _Potter_  is unbearable, the hero lording it over everyone, he gets all the attention and there isn’t anything particularly special about him. He’s just a stupid little boy with unbelievable luck. I love being there when his luck runs out. Kicking him on the train this year was so satisfying. I kicked him as hard as I could with all the hate I had for him. Hate for imprisoning my father and breaking my mother’s heart. And hate for the way things could have been.   
  
Stupid Scarhead. Before Hogwarts, at Madam Malkin’s if only he’d said something. Or on the train... we could have been friends. Instead I’m stuck with  _dumb_  and  _dumber_  and he’s stuck with Weasel and  _Frizzball_.   
  
I  _hate_  Frizzball aka Hermione Jean Granger (future Head Girl and most irritatingly future Mrs Weasel).   
  
I  _hate_  Frizzball because she’s a mudblood and I’m a Malfoy. We shouldn’t even be in the same school.   
  
She makes my pure-blood boil; her perfect marks, beating me in every class. I hate she’s so smart about something’s but stupid about others.   
  
Like  _men_ … Frizzball is totally clueless when it comes to men. If she’d been a pure blood she’d have what she deserved, _we’d_  have been the unstoppable rulers of the school; Prince and Princess of Slytherin. All she gets is Weasel, Vicky, that Weasel twin and Sir McBoast-a-lot. My task would have been finished by her birthday and we’d be living it up together. Instead, I’m still here and she’s with  _HIM_.   
  
I hate her eyes, her hair, her smell, her laugh… I hate how all her imperfect individual pieces make up one amazing perfect and beautiful Herm… Frizzball. She haunts me.   
  
I hate her chocolate eyes I want to drown in them. I hate her hair it’s just a ball of frizz. It falls everywhere so you can’t help but notice her. Especially, when it falls around and down her back; inviting fantasises about playing with those toffee brown curls against her bear skin.   
  
I hate that voice of hers; always there, always right.   
  
There’s this voice she uses for _him_ sometimes when she doesn’t think anyone is listening. It drives me crazy. It could sooth me.   
  
I hate her summer berries and vanilla smell was in Amortentia Slughorn’s first lesson. I hate her as much as I…   
  
Oh he’s making her laugh now. Great; all I need is to hear that sound on a day like today.   
  
I will admit that  _that’s_  his only talent; the only thing he can do that I can never do: mainly because if I did make her laugh it would mean my death. I hate that laugh how it rings out and hits me like a Veela’s song; somehow musical and inviting even though it’s  _just_  a laugh. I hate that I want to make her laugh.   
  
I could make her laugh. Make her smile. I’d spoil her. I hate that I’d buy her anything her heart desired just to see her smile. I’d happily give her my family’s library and set the house elves free just to see that smile. I’d be her everything. I  _hate_  that I want to be the one who is everything to her…  I  _hate_  that I want to be the one that full fill’s her every whim.

 

I  _hate_ that when no one’s watching he carry’s her books and gives her backrubs _. I_ want _that_ simple pleasure.   
  
I’ve watched them passing notes in class and the library; _his_  notes make her scowl and scold with her mouth _(“You should be working!”)_ but smiles in her eyes. I should be doing that. I  _hate_  how she’s always in the library. I can’t even study when she’s there. I hate daydreaming about our conversation or some other enjoyable pursuit among her beloved books.   
  
I hate that when she forgets to eat because she’s studying, he gets to bring her food. I want to do that... I know what she likes, what she needs and I  _hate_  that.   
  
I  _hate_  that I can’t have her and yet I’m totally addicted to her; I crave her like air or magic. I know that if I had a taste of her as my own I could never get my fill. I hate that the only craving she has is for Weasel.   
  
I  _hate_  the way she smiled after she slapped me, third year. For a moment, I saw the same passion she has for  _him_. He was the one that held her back and calmed her down. It was that passion and that smile that opened a floodgate of attraction. There’s power in that smile. I changed that smile fourth year and only I cared enough to do it. I knew she  _hated_  her teeth being that size because she’s a perfectionist. I thought she was beautiful just as she was but she wasn’t happy so it was a no-brainer. I knew Madam Pomfrey would have to shrink them for her. That she’s smart enough to take the opportunity when it’s presented to her. If she’d been a pure-blood Slytherin would have had to watch out for. Clever girl that Hermione…   
  
Frizzball… I mean Frizzball. I can’t let myself think about her as Hermione. How many times a day to I have to remind myself?   
  
It took me _two_ _years_ to think about her as Frizzball again and I’m not going to let myself undo the job I’ve done. Calling her Frizzball helps me get out of bed. She inspires and captivates me; even if I have to endure seeing her with  _HIM_.   
  
She inspires me all the time like that; I can’t imagine what we’d do together. The Rosmerta coin was her idea that I nicked. Weasel and Scarhead are both too thick to have conceptualised  _that_ idea for DA. They wouldn’t have survived this long without her. I also got the idea for the poisoning the Mead from her and the twin Weasels.   
  
That poisoned Mead. If only Slughorn wasn’t greedy; I’d be out of here. Slughorn has never had any strength of character so I’ve been lead to believe.  _She_  does. Faced with the whole Purple Weasel mess she showed her strength of character. She was strong and didn’t forgive him when he begged after Christmas.   
  
I saw him still begging her to forgive him the night before his birthday. To just talk to him again while they were on duty together; he even went so far as to begin to list for her all the things he missed about her. He missed their ‘ _sandwiches’_  whatever that means. He missed talking to her and arguing with her. He missed her reminding him about homework. He complained that he missed her at Christmas. That it was the longest they’ve been apart since the Quidditch World Cup and he’d thought he’d go mad.   
  
I know she wanted to forgive him but she wouldn’t even look at his pathetic-ness. She just conjured yellow birds and walked on. His face was  _priceless_. Unfortunately, they heard me laugh and I had to revert back to insulting him with my best smirk. Then, I turned on her and he jumped right to her defence. I must say she has calmed that Weasel temper. She still didn’t forgive him.

  
It’s the only time I’ve been glad of her strength: it would have killed me to see him happy. She is so amazingly strong. Even when the Weasel was dying she was strong enough to survive Purple.   
  
I  _hate_  how strong she is; I  _hate_  that  _I_  can’t hurt her, I want to make her suffer and cry; the way I have done.   
  
Oh no they’re catching each other’s eye now. I swear she is driving me crazy… Shy secret nauseating smile in:   
  
Three    
  
Two   
  
One   
  
And there it is; that secret smile that’s become too frequent of late.   
  
I  _HATE_  it.   
  
Witnessing her happy with him. This beautiful day pales in comparison with her when she’s happy. Weasel’s break up with Purple has made her radiant. She’s always more beautiful when they’re together. There’s something in her eyes; a spark, a passion. Only  _he_  brings that out of  _her_. She lost that, some of herself when they weren’t talking. She always bottles that passion up until they’re together. I bet when she’s uncorked she’s be amazing in bed; loving and beautiful. I hate that she’s so beautiful now in an indescribable indefinable unconventional way.

 

What I hate most about her is that she’s the only girl I can’t have. I always want what I can’t have. Even as a child. Especially something that belongs to someone else’s. And she’s the _ultimate_ personification of both. I can’t have her. I shouldn’t want her. I try to convince myself. Every time I do; a fresh wave of longing hit’s me and I’m feel drowning and burning with an intense desire for her.   
  
I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I’ve come to know that there’s a reason why lust is a deadly sin and is the downfall of men. I hate that I long to be the one to hold her through the night, touch her... kiss her whenever I want. But she remains most assuredly the ultimate forbidden fruit.   
  
She’s not only forbidden fruit because I’m a pure-blood but also because there’s this unwritten, unspoken rule at Hogwarts.  _Frizzball_  belongs to  _Weasel_  and  _Weasel_  belongs to  _Frizzball_. I’ve always wanted to break it; and in so doing break  _him_. I  _hate_  that there’s only been four people to disregard that rule; Weasel, Frizzball, Purple and ‘Vicky’. Even Sir McBoast-a-lot, the most stupid self-centred big-head since Lockhart, respected that stupid rule.   
  
I  _hate_  that she probably thinks that no one wants her like that. Doesn’t she ever wonder why no one’s ever asked her to Hogsmeade? Or why in our fourth year only ‘ _Vicky’_  – the pumpkin-head – asked her to the Yule Ball?  _Her_  walking in with Vicky surprised the whole school - looking like she did. From then on I was totally sunk (and so was Weasel). Even the some of the Slytherin boys started talking about her like  _that_. Next day, incredibly, Weasel and Frizzball were talking and only seemed in a slight bad mood with each other. They smiled  _that_  smile at each other though. I didn’t think it was important but that smile has surprised me.   
  
The only thing that surprised me more than Frizzball and Vicky was the whole Purple/Weasel fiasco. Weasel’s stupidity amazes even me sometimes. It was slowly killing me that he had caused her so much pain. My hatred for him intensified; every time she looked lost, lonely and betrayed – hating him made my usual pain and longing more bearable.   
  
I should be the one to inspire those kinds of emotions in her. When he makes her cry; I want to punch him. I can’t unless I come up with a better reason. So instead, I engage my mind with other important problems.   
  
Weasel is the person I hate the most. He’s a wuss. A nothing.  A pure blood traitor. I shouldn’t care about him. Somehow, he is the focus of my hate. If looks could have killed I would have been in Azkaban long ago.   
  
I  _hate_  that if Weasel and Frizzball live long enough; they'll marry. He’ll get to be with her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. They’ll produce a family of ginger children and share a future _together_. Weasel should have the same future as me if I don’t get this done for the Dark Lord. 

 

None.   
  
I have happy dreams of torturing him. Getting him get to the brink of death then not giving it to him; wanting him to feel lost, lonely and confused. Aunt Bella taught me. He’s the only one I think I could give the Cruciatus Curse to a worse degree then Aunt Bella. To put it plainly I wanted him to hurt so much that even his red hair feels like its burning. I want for him the same kind of pain I’m feeling now.   
  
I _hate_ that red hair of his, especially when it’s surrounded by the hair of all his family – always hugging and happy to see each other blah blah blah he’s such a wuss.   
  
I hate that he became a Prefect. How? I don’t know; it’s like the staff thinks we’re equals. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made him Head Boy next year;  _just_  to make my life worse. I can’t imagine how much my pain would intensify watching them two share being Head Boy and Head Girl.   
  
I  _hate_  him because he’s obviously smart, he’s just plain lazy. Thinks he’s SO good at wizard chess; I could beat him in less than 7 moves, even if I was half asleep and he was cheating.   
  
And what’s with those stupid jumpers? The whole lot of them Weasels get those stupid jumpers. Maroon is a horrid colour on him and yet ever year he gets a new one. I even saw Frizzball wearing one of _HIS_ old ones once; it was maroon with a golden ‘R’ on. She kept sniffing it and smiling while he was practicing Quidditch.   
  
Think I even saw her blow him a kiss probably for luck which back fired because he really played badly that practice. That was before he was giving her the cold shoulder. The jumpers are just a sign of how pathetic and weak they all are; love makes you weak and vulnerable. Whereas I,  _I_  am strong because I don’t have love to distract me or pull me down.   
  
I _hate_ that Weasel recognised Scarhead first and ruined what could have been a very advantageous friendship. I  _hate_  that I could have spent the last six years with a near equal; semi-intelligent conversation and jokes.

 

Instead, I’m stuck here with those to Toll heads;  _dumb_  and  _dumber_. Repeating their OWL’s – but it is amusing seeing them Polyjuice into girls to stand guard for me. That is the only good thing about my mission. I  _hate_  my mission it’s so frustrating. I want it to be over. And it would be over if I had Scarhead’s luck.   
  
I wish I’d won the Felix Felicis. How did Scarhead do it? Where did this ability in Potions come from? How is he beating both  _me_  and  _Frizzball_  this year? Why does he need luck anyway – he’s Scarhead.  He certainly doesn’t need luck with that Girl Weasel she’s all over him. Wonder if there’s a bet going on them as well. I couldn’t stand seeing Scarhead happy as well as Frizzball and Weasel.  _Them_  all being happy would just prove my theory though.   
  
I wonder if the night Scarhead was conceived, his dad had taken Felix Felicis; and that why he’s always so lucky. Apart from meeting the Weasel first of course – just proves that even high and mighty Scarhead can’t have everything. That red haired freckled pauper got there first. Although, I’m certain that the only reason Scarhead lived thus far isn’t luck but his mother and Frizzball.   
  
I’ve sat here and watched  _them_  for years. Noticing the three of them are always up to something. Usually stupidity itself; but they often have their heads together. It should be me there plotting and planning with Frizzball and Scarhead. I should be the third member of the trio; enjoying that close friendship. I  _hate_  that friendship…   
  
I  _hate_  that it could have been me. It should have been me!   
  
I  _hate_  that the Sorting Hat contemplated putting me in Gryffindor but I wouldn’t let it finish the word; let alone its sentence. Knowing I’d probably have been convinced by its argument. If I had I’d be there instead of here.   
  
I would have been like my cousin Sirius; disowned and alone. I was such a  _child_  then; playing at life. Scared of being alone and isolated. Now I feel alone in a crowd of people. I’m alone when I’m with the Death Eaters. I’m alone now in the crowded Hall watching _THEM_.   
  
Maybe, if I’d gone to Gryffindor I would be with her. Far from alone and bound to die. We could have started off as four but then I’d have figured a way to get rid of the Weasel. I wouldn’t be like this watching  _THEM_. He’d be alone watching  _US_ , hating  _OUR_  relationship.   
  
That’s what I  _hate_  the most about Weasel. I  _hate_  HIS relationship with that jumped up self-righteous muggle born. The way they always look together and those looks between them. He can pick fights so easily with her - just to see her raised emotions. I  _hate_  that he knows her like that like I never can. He knows her; what to say and do to get her passionate. I  _hate_  that I wish I could do that.   
  
In my dreams, I can push those buttons and we’re amazing together. I’m her knight in shining armour defeating the evil Weasel. It’s me she turns to for happiness and safety and then gives me _that_ radiant smile, that look she gives him. It’s _the now-lets-be-together-and-forget-about-the-world-because-you’re-my-hero_ look.   
  
I  _HATE_  that I was her hero once.  _I_  saved her at the Quidditch World Cup. I even called her muggle not mudblood. Father had been lurking about waiting for her – ‘ _kill Potter’s mudblood, make an example of her; expose his weaknesses’_  – so I warned them. I saved her. It hurt when she grabbed Weasels hand and gave him that look.  _I_  was the brave one. I should have got that look not him.   
  
I HATE THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACHOTHER IN CLASS. WHEN THE PROFESSORS ASKS ONE A QUESTION AND THEY GET IT RIGHT. THE SMILE THAT THE OTHER GETS, THE GLINT IN THE EYE – THAT MAYBE THEY DON’T KNOW OR THEY THINK NO ONE SEES, BUT I SEE – PRIDE LIKE THEY’D ANSWERED THE QUESTION AND BEEN AWARDED 50 HOUSE POINTS.   
  
HE’S SO THICK! HERMIONE HARDY EVER SMILES BECAUSE OF HIM. HE ONLY GOT OWLS BECAUSE SHE HELPED. HE’D PROBABLY GET HIS OWN NAME WRONG IF SHE WASN’T THERE.   
  
BUT HIM…   
  
HE AWAYS GETS TO SMILE FOR HER. I’D MAKE HER SMILE ALL THE TIME. SIX YEARS I’VE WATCHED IT AND SIX YEARS I’VE HATED IT. I WANT TO WIPE THAT SMILE OFF THEIR FACES!   
  
And breathe. And relax. Shouting in my head is never good. Reflected in my goblet, my face seems a little redder then the grey it’s been of late. I drink the apple juice, imagining its Firewhiskey.   
  
I  _HATE_  that  _HE_  can do what I can’t… make her cry. Then, in almost the same breath, stands up for her and does anything for her. He stands up to me; even shouted at Snape in class third year. I hate   he’d do anything for her. She knows it. She would do the same for him.   
  
They turn to each other: it’s plain to see she feels safe with him; I  _HATE_  THAT. I  _HATE_  way they always sit together, next to each other on the train when talking to Scarhead; gravitating towards each other.   
  
Weasel had no hope against me in the second year with his broken wand and that silly childish curse. Yet he tried; defended her like some gallant knight. Looked like a stupid idiot throwing up those slugs – better him then me. That was the first spark.   
  
The more I know he  _LOVES_  her; the more I know she  _LOVES_  him; the more I  _hate_  them. I’ll say one thing for love: It gives me the more power over that hot-head Weasel – although given Frizzball’s behaviour this year – she’s picked up that trait.   
  
Poor Sir McBoast-a-lot didn’t look worse than usual after Slughorn’s Christmas party. I saw him in the corridor on my way back to the Room of Requirements. I’m surprised she only cursed him with the slugs – I didn’t think that was her style. Then again with Sir McBoast-a-lots reputation; I’m not surprised it got to her Weasel temper. The pureblood joke goes that the Weasel temper, not only passes from parent to children but, after a few years of marital bliss, from husband to wife.

 

I HATE THAT THEIR NOT EVEN DATING AND SHE ALREADY HAS IT!   
  
I’ve seen them when they’re together. I hate the passion on both of their faces  _whenever_  they argue.  _AND_ the depressed looks they give each other  _whenever_  they’re not talking. In between Christmas and the Mead they were unbearable. Weasel chucked himself at Purple and Frizzball was half of herself: pretending to be her usual bookworm-self.   
  
Almost made me wish that Weasel twin was back. The one she danced with at the Yule Ball. Think it’s the same one she used to have breakfast with on Sunday mornings. She always seemed happy with  _him_ , not as happy as when she was with Weasel but happy none the less. They were unlikely friends until the day before he left. At least she could have laughed a little until Weasel came to his senses.   
  
I  _HATE_  the way they always make-up. After ever argument, fight, tiff: they’re able to be friends again. He can do that and I hate it!   
  
I  _hate_  the fact that they are in love is the worse kept secret (and the biggest bet) in Hogwarts history. I haven’t bet on them, but only because it would be like betting against  _me_ ; admitting defeat. I  _hate_  that in this whole school, probably the whole wizarding world, there are only two people who don’t know that Frizzball and Weasel are in Love;  _Frizzball_  and  _Weasel_.   
  
I’m still watching them between mouthfuls of treacle tart. Not even this, my favourite Hogwarts pudding, is cheering me up and out of this introspective gloom. I’d think the Dark Lord sent a Dementor after me if the crowd of people wasn’t so good humoured.   
  
Weasel and Frizzball have forgotten all about Purple and her earlier dramatic exit. They’re talking and gravitating towards each other again. That’s odd, did I just imagine it or did his little finger just wrap around hers. That must mean something because they’re flashed that smile they only give each other (again).   
  
I never thought I’d have to endure that smile again. I never thought they’d get over that Purple fight must have had something to do with Weasel nearly dying. I’ve watched them over the years and I’ve never seen them have a fight like the one they had before Christmas. Wish I’d been there when she’d sent a load of yellow birds to attack him. Only Herm… I mean Frizzball would do something like that. I would have given anything to have a picture of it.   
  
I should have been out of here by now. I can’t believe my Dumbledore Mead plan didn’t work; greedy Slughorn. However, to know that my poison nearly polished off the Weasel made me happier than I thought I could be without Dark Lord approval. I ruined his seventeenth birthday.   
  
Or at least I thought I had when I first heard but now thinking back…   
  
He lived. And what’s making me sick is to knowing that... I’m solely responsible for getting them back together. She forgave him the moment he unexpectedly and unconscious croaked "Er-my-nee," from his hospital bed.   
  
The three of them are always nearly dying. First year, Weasel hand that dragon bit and Harry after fighting the Dark Lord. Second year, Frizzball was petrified, I snuck in there in the middle of the night – I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to gloat. I almost had a heart attack when I saw  _HIM_  lying next to her fighting sleep. He didn’t notice me because he was speaking to her in a low voice. He looked like he’d been crying. Probably realized how useless he was; remorseful and frustrated... should have been there to protect her. He held her hand and stroking it.

  
I bet she did the same this year; bedside visual... sickening. I _hate_ that she’d never come for me.   
  
I’ve always been acutely aware of  _them_. I’ve watched; every time there’s a threat like death or someone else there’s a shift in their relationship. It was the nearly losing each other that changes their relationship because it’s when they realized that ‘this might be it’ for them and the other might be left alone…   
  
This time around wasn’t the same.  _Him_  being so close to death was different for her because of the pending war and their fight… It gave her the push she needed to realize all their fights are childish compared to the reality of life now.   
  
Oh no… Now there’s no Purple… They’re  _SO_  close; they’ll be together soon. When they’re together, how am I going to survive watching that?   
  
The fact that they’ll be together soon is the fact I  _HATE_  most. I  _HATE_  that seeing them together would kill me. I’m stuck with a dream; he gets the reality. The reality I want, I deserve; seeing them so close makes me mourn. When they are finally together I will psychically mourn for her and me. I’ll mourn the loss of my  _dream_  of her: The _dream_  that she’s keeping herself for me and all I have to is declare my feeling and she’d be mine. When they’re together... she’ll be dead to me then.

 

I’ll die too; mourn for my hope at redemption: For the loss of her as my inspiration, as my guiding light and harbour from darkness.   
  
She’s my world and when she’s finally with  _him_  that world will end. Why is fate wickedly cruel as to bind her to someone as pitiable as him? Her, who I could give my heart to completely and without reserve... why is she so lost in him?   
  
Why were  _they_  made to fit each other while at the same time  _I_  was made to adore her from a far? No one, no one will ever compare to Hermione. Everyone I have and will ever be with will always be measured to her and be found  _wanting_. As  _wanting_  as I I am.  _Wanting_  her and being a lesser man because  _he_  has her.   
  
I can’t deny it anymore I, Draco Malfoy love Hermione Granger…

 

Maybe just because she’s forbidden fruit but it doesn’t lessen the feeling. When Weasel and Frizzball (I have to call her that or I’ll run mad) finally get together it’s going to be a passionate relationship and everyone is going to know about – even though they’ll keep it private. It’ll be the brand of love soppy Witch Weekly romance fiction is made of.   
  
Witnessing  _that_  would be more then I could bear… Seeing  _that_  would kill me more than the Dark Lord ever could. It’s going to be soon; very soon. Watching them finally together would be like a slow magic-less Cruciatus Curse. Worse and more damaging than anything even Aunt Bella could perform.   
  
They’ve been unknowingly conspiring to create the effects of the Cruciatus Curse within me for years. Everything they share a touch, spark, smile, sighs unknowingly weaves a painful magic-less web. Shattering my heart it into a million sharp pieces that cutting into my soul, mimicking Cruciatus in an intensified form.

Pain that  _is_  a magic-less torture and there's no cure or counter-curse available to me.   
  
The pain has grown from the unfortunate day my only  _love_  and  _hate_  collided to encapsulate the one person I can’t live with or without. The passion within me fights a never ending war to the point where I’m physically in pain and it’s impossible to describe. I don’t let myself think about her, the object of obsession, in the days mocking light but in the small hours of the morning. There’s no escape.  
  
This magic-less curse is made worst when I know two things for sure about the object of so many nights contemplation:   
  
One, she doesn’t know how much I love  _her._ How my only wish is for us to be able to be in love. How all-encompassing she has become to me. How my daily routine has become trying to forget  _her_. Treating  _her_  like _I_  should, like my father always trained me to treat and hate her kind. She doesn’t have a clue the power she has over me. I would die for her. I am dying watch  _him_  where I should be. 

Over the summer, I had this reoccurring nightmare: I was working for Umbridge’s High Inquisitor quad – searching for DA members when I walked in on Weasel snogging a girl in the library. She had brown hair, ink stained fingers and moaned _“Ronnie”_ happily. He recognised the voice. The legs wrapped round his middle were Hermione’s and even after he asked what was going on and sneered them; they still didn’t stop. Weasel actually complained that: “Leave us alone... we get precious little time together...”

He didn’t believe them but Frizzball kept kissing his neck, and Weasel lost the ability to form words. Hermione was talking about ‘throes of passion’ when Weasel caused her to moan. In that moment, he felt as awful as he always knew he would: in absolute pain. It was topped off by Weasel boosting: “I love driving her wild...” I look over to see the beginning of Frizzball’s bra as she...

Thankfully, everything else from there was a blur of spinning colours... ending the same way each time. Frizzball is controlled Weasel by his tie and calls _Her_...Frizzball... “my girlfriend”. There’s this look of love between them. And I know this is the first time they’ve said this out loud. I feel sick and then there’s a sharp pain in my head, around my right eye. That’s when I wake up. Crying and screaming because I know she’ll never be mine! 

That look of love passing between them, in my nightmare and in real life reminds me that... Two, she’s so completely in love with Weasel that her knowing my feelings wouldn’t make a difference.  _He_  could never deserve  _her_  and yet she’s chosen  _him_. They are as lost in each other as it is possible to be. I’d Polyjuice into  _him_  for a day to have her like he does. Only she’d be able to tell within moments that I wasn’t him... We wouldn’t fit like they do.   
  
Since September, watching  _them_  has become like a self-destructive ritual of mine; my way of making sure I’m still alive. I wonder if she looked over here now she’d see that I’ve gone from my normal shade of grey to Slytherin green. It’s agony having to witness her in love with the worthless waste Weasel.   
  
I _hate_ that Weasel has  _her_ ; I’ll never get to experience. This Magic-less Cruciatus Curse is Dark Lord tame compared to  _this_.

I have to finish this task. I don’t want to see them ‘ _together’_  together. Much as their dancing about the obvious and that whole Purple thing has been fun; I just can’t watch the next step.  _He’ll_  have everything  _I_  want.   
  
Without her as my light  _I_  choose the  _Dark_  Side, the  _Dark_  Lord and all that entails. I choose the  _Dark_  Arts, embrace my father’s chosen path for me and work for him whom all Death Eaters serve. I never want to see Frizzball or Weasel again. If I do, once this is over, I’m going to kill them both. That’s already my reward from the Dark Lord  _when_  I finish off Dumbledore. I’ll have my fun with  _her_  and torture  _him_ weaving my own magic-less Cruciatus Curse.   
  
I _hate_ Weasel that much… Back to the Room of Requirements now I think. Somehow in the process of serving the Dark Lord I’ll come back and I’ll find some way to ruin  _their_ relationship. After all, take Frizzball away from Weasel and you destroy  _him_. Destroy Weasel and you weaken Scarhead; weaken Scarhead and the Dark Lord wins and we all live.   
  
Not happily ever after but we live. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note to say doesn’t Draco think and hate a lot! (13 pages worth).
> 
> I love this story; it is one of the first fanfictions I wrote. I love the idea of Draco being attracted to Hermione and it driving him mad because she loves Ron. Sorry D/Hr fans. There will not be a sequel where she leaves Ron for Draco. 
> 
> I didn’t think Draco wouldn't bother using anyone’s real name. SNAPS and thanks to MeNuncle for coming up with McLaggen nickname - Sir McBoast-a-lot. You’re an amazing writer and friend. 
> 
> ALL my fic’s interrelate so I suggest reading my other fic’s. SO the nightmare at the end is actually a weakly cast memory charm by Hermione (flustered from snogging Ron). For the whole story, including further explanations of sandwiches and the pinkie thing read the Christmas Interrupted Series! For Neville’s part in Ron’s birthday was read Seamus Day Out. Seamus Night In has Seamus and Lavenders conversation before and after this eyelash scene as well as the break-up. For the break-up et al from Ron and Hermione’s viewpoint... look out for Rebounding Relationships. 
> 
> Oh you might have guessed (if you’d read Letters to Mum: a Yule Brawl POV) the ‘Weasel twin’ Hermione was having breakfast with was Fred. There’s more Fred/Hermione story in Bed and the coming soon George Explains it All. 
> 
> The key to missing moments is to find the cannon nuggets. I managed to find loads of Draco to weave into this monolog but what do you think? 
> 
> Reviews make me happy. A happy me writes more moments and starts storming about knowing that Ron can be is so cruel... actually happened... but don't let that put you off.
> 
> JustSuperMione
> 
> Aka 
> 
> She-Who-Must-Be-Reviewed


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